


Of Rogue Taxidermy and Unwanted Animal Carcasses

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Exhibitionism, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Karkat bond over their guardians' love for dead things. And then somehow a bit of voyeurism got thrown in there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by a kink meme post:  
>   
> "KARKAT: IT'S LIKE  
> KARKAT: YOU KNOW HOW EVERY NOW AND THEN YOUR LUSUS WILL BRING SOME RANDOM ASS DEAD ANIMAL BACK TO YOUR HIVE FOR NO FUCKING REASON  
> KARKAT: AND THEY DON'T EVER STOP DOING THAT NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU YELL  
> KARKAT: IT'S LIKE THAT, YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN  
> DAVE: not really  
> DAVE: oh wait  
> DAVE: against all odds i sorta do  
> DAVE: mine actually did do that once  
> KARKAT: YES, THERE YOU GO.   
> \--  
>  Oh REALLY NOW? In this case, it was somewhat explained, some kind of bib made from a horse, but I'd LOVE to see more of this odd behavior. Just quirky, "I have no idea what this is supposed to mean" stuff. You can take it anywhere you want, I just want to see this sort of thing!"

STRIDER ARE YOU EVEN PAYING ATTENTION?  
HAVE I JUST BEEN TALKING MY ASS OFF HERE TO THIN AIR?  
COULD YOU PLEASE PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR EXCREMENT CHUTE FOR LONG ENOUGH TO HOLD A DECENT CONVERSATION.  
I MEAN HELL, MY EXPECTATIONS WEREN’T EVEN THAT HIGH, BUT I EXPECTED SOMETHING A BIT BETTER THAN EAR-SHATTERING SILENCE.  
hold your horses dude im reminiscing 

\-- 

The Striders had been going through boxes that had been contentedly molding away in the building storage for far too many years after repeat letters to please “clean up their massive amounts of crap we are trying to look moderately presentable and we can’t with boxes of weird puppet parts and pornography paraphernalia please do something about this asap.” Dave had begrudgingly offered to help Bro out in finally undertaking the task in exchange for use of his professional camera for his own photographic shenanigans for 48 hours. Plenty of time. 

The younger Strider heaved the last remaining box onto their kitchen table (or rather, generic shitty stuff table) with a grunt. “This it?”  
“Yeah man.” Bro all but grunted his response, his shirt long since abandoned after numerous trips carrying boxes up and down countless flights of stairs in an un-air-conditioned, stagnant, Houston apartment complex. A wife-beater clung to his skin like a wetsuit, encouragingly plastered on by a slick layer of sweat. Dave was faring similarly, having stripped down to a relatively similarly clothed state, his own undershirt hanging loosely around his torso, encouraged by the breeze of a tired window fan. 

Curious fingers peeled at the all but decaying flaps of the cardboard box as he peered inside. “Hopy shit bro.” He dug out the thing on the top of the box, a faded pink, well-loved blanket, covered in an ironically distasteful number of hearts. “Is this my baby blanket?”  
In a moment of rare interest, it seemed as if he had actually piqued Bro’s curiosity. Dave, his Strider senses tingling, didn’t even need to look up to tell that Bro was directly behind him, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look at the object he held in his hands. “Yeah man. Totally was. You clung to that thing like a pro. You were a Class-A clinger, dude. Never even had a chance to lose you.”

Dave rolled his eyes behind his glasses as Bro reached over his shoulder to dig his hands into the box. “Like you would ever have wanted to lose me. I was probably a chick magnet from the start man, with how adorable I was. You were probably wading through receipts and cocktail napkins with numbers scrawled out on them next to lipstick kiss marks to even make it to the apartment door.” He eyed the little toy horses Bro pulled out of the box. “I don’t recognize those.”

“Yeah little dude, you never liked them much. You were more interested in getting into my DJ shit. Which was chill, because its a pretty rad thing to say your three year old does.” Dave turned slightly, watching Bro roll the toy horses over in his hands. Dave didn’t even have to ask to know that they were Bro’s when he was a kid -- he just knew. He felt a subtle, split-second, stab of regret that he had not liked them more, given that Bro had gone to the effort of sharing something so personal with him when he was a baby. But that feeling was quickly shaken off with a practiced nonchalance as Dave pulled out a worn, white something from the box. Like most of his baby things, it had a heart right in the center of it. At Dave’s lack of vocalization, the elder Strider supplied the answer: “Baby bib.” 

Dave turned it over and over in his hands, the texture something familiar, but caught in a distant memory and it took him a second to place. “Dude, is this leather?” 

“Yeah. Horse leather.”

Dave wasn’t sure which was more discomforting, the fact that he wore a bib when he was a child that was made out of horse leather, the fact that he was holding it now, or the absolutely unconcerned and indifferent way that Bro had just told him, like it was something completely fucking normal.

“Horse leather.” Dave was still holding it. Why was he still holding it? 

“Yeah little dude. Made it myself.” Bro was still playing with the toy horses, resting one of them on Dave’s left shoulder. It was a good thing Dave was standing so still in his disbelief, otherwise the beloved toys would have toppled.

“Made it yourself.” Dave felt like an echo, repeating everything his brother said with the faintest hint of disgust and also hopeful disbelief. 

“Yep.” The horse on Dave’s shoulder was now joined with another one as Bro pulled a couple more from the box. “Your first solid food was horse meat baby mush. Made that myself too. Didn’t want the thing to go to waste, you know?” He sounded frighteningly proud of himself, that arrogant asshole.

Dave swallowed. Then, he carefully plucked the toy horses from his shoulder, turned, and set them in Bro’s hands. “Ok. I’m done.” He spared a look to the box. “You can keep what you want that strikes your sentimental fancy, dude. I’m cool with whatever, but I’ll be in my room.”


	2. Chapter 2

ok bro  
im all reminisced out i forgot how messed up that was  
ARE YOU GOING TO SHARE WITH THE CLASS?  
OR ARE YOU GOING TO JUST LEAVE ME HANGING, EAGERLY ANTICIPATING YOUR NEXT UTTERANCE AS IF I HAD BEEN POISONED WITH THE BILE OF A THOUSAND STINGBEASTS AND YOUR WORDS WERE THE ONLY ANTIDOTE?  
is that even a thing  
IS WHAT A THING?  
bee vomit  
is that even a thing  
HOW IS THAT NOT A THING?  
im pretty sure thats not a thing  
OF COURSE IT IS A THING  
HOW ROTTEN IS YOUR THINK PAN THAT YOU WOULDN’T--  
GOD DAMMIT!  
YOU MADE ME LOSE MY TRAIN OF THOUGHT, YOU INSUFFERABLE DOUCHE.   
SERIOUSLY, FORGET ABOUT THE STINGBEAST VOMIT. IT’S UNIMPORTANT.  
I MEAN, JUSTIFIABLY AS UNIMPORTANT AS THIS ENTIRE CONVERSATION, BUT WHAT THE FUCK EVER.  
YOU WERE TELLING ME ABOUT YOUR LUSUS.  
right   
yeah  
i was just remembering the time i realized he fed me horse meat when i was a kid  
like some farm animal eating scraps of its friends out of a slop bucket  
oh no man dont worry jimmy the pig went to a better place  
your stomach  
HE FED YOU HOOFBEAST?  
THAT’S VILE. I ASSUMED OUR CULTURES SHARED THE SIMILARITY THAT HOOFBEASTS WERE FOR APPRECIATION, THOUGH NOT QUITE TO THE EXTENT THAT ZAHHAK TAKES IT, BUT REGARDLESS.   
THEY DEFINITELY AREN’T FOR CONSUMPTION.   
i mean thats kind of how its meant to be  
but i guess my bro didnt get the memo  
he also made a bib out of the horse  
and god knows what  
id call him a survivalist if i didnt think he did it for the sole reason of being creepy  
veiled with a thin layer of irony that does a piss poor job of covering his underlying sociopathical tendencies  
i mean dont get me wrong he is pretty much the supreme monarch of irony  
but not when it comes to his weird fascination with dead animals  
THERE’S MORE?  
hell fucking yes theres more  
WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?  
tit for tat vantas  
i want some insight into your guardians proclivity to bring you tokens of his love through dead things  
not all of us can be voyeurs like yourself  
watching intently with little discrimination as your subjects age  
i mean  
how much did you watch even on your creepy viewports  
ENOUGH.  
I MEANT ENOUGH WITH THAT TRAIN OF THOUGHT, NOT...THAT I MANAGED TO SEE ENOUGH...  
YEAH, ANYWAY, YOU GET IT.   
FINE, I’LL INDULGE YOU, BUT ONLY BECAUSE I HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO BE DOING.  
thats the entire premise of this conversation isnt it  
that neither of us have anything better to be doing  
otherwise we wouldnt even deign to talk to each other  
CAN YOU SHUT YOUR GARGANTUAN LIPS FOR EVEN TWO SECONDS, STRIDER? YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WANTED A STORY.  
ok ok fine


	3. Chapter 3

SO  
THIS ONE TIME  
wow this is absolutely riveting  
let me drop everything i was doing into a completely counterproductive heap on the ground  
debris everywhere  
thereby being a general nuisance to everyone around me with the catastrophic mess i made  
because oh man vantas i just cant even concentrate on anything else   
you are such a good story teller  
I’M GOING TO RIP YOUR ENTRAILS OUT WITH A SALAD FORK, STRIDER.  
NOW SHUT YOUR FACE.  
SO MY LUSUS, WHO I GUESS YOU WOULD DESCRIBE AS A GANGLY CRUSTACEAN GIANT WITH RIDICULOUSLY TERRIBLE MANNERS AND A PROCLIVITY TO OVERBEAR IN THE MOST SOUL-CRUSHINGLY ANNOYING WAY POSSIBLE, I GUESS, IS KIND OF LIKE YOUR “BRO.”  
HE ENJOYED BRINGING ME TOKENS OF HIS LOVE  
IN THE TOTALLY REASONABLE FORM OF DEAD SEA CREATURES.  
OCCASIONALLY I WOULD GET LUCKY AND THEY WOULD BE LAND MAMMALS.  
IT REALLY SPICED UP THE ROUTINE OF ROTTING FISH IN FRONT OF MY HIVE DOOR WITH THE SMELL OF DECAYING LANDBEAST FLESH INSTEAD.  
hah  
sucks to be you  
OH HA HA, STRIDER. LIKE YOU CAN’T COMPLETELY RELATE TO THE SITUATION.   
i mean i can  
I KNOW. I WATCHED YOUR HILARIOUSLY BORING LIFE UNFOLD BEFORE MY VERY EYES.  
IT WAS AWFUL, JUST SO YOU KNOW.  
yep you hated every second of it  
its why your eyes were glued to the screen for fear you would miss some crucial development  
apparently you caught a good chunk of the strider show though  
cant say im surprised though  
i mean we are so chill weve got penguins migrating in   
crowding up the place  
those tuxedoed assholes keep making me feel under dressed  
pretentious douchebags  
STRIDER, SHUT UP.  
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.  
WAIT.  
NO. YOU KNOW WHAT? YOU CAN KEEP TALKING.  
I’M JUST GOING TO GO WATCH SOME RERUNS OF THE FAMOUS, YET STRANGELY ADDICTING, “STRIDER SHOW.”   
wait dude no thats creepy  
you voyeur  
haha you can come back now  
dude  
vantas

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] is now an idle chum! --


	4. Chapter 4

It was a moment of rare tranquility in the Strider household (or rather, small apartment living situation.) It was a Tuesday afternoon, which mean that Bro was out delivering pizzas to keep up appearances for neighbors who had started to get too skeptical at their mysterious source of income. Ordinarily, Bro wouldn’t have been too shy about telling people about Plush Rump, but these were elderly women who still thought that men should open doors and offer up their seats on public transit, as well as put their coats down in puddles (to which Bro, and Dave to a certain extent, were glad to comply, if only for ironic reasons). Bro figured the idea of puppet porn might not sit well with such mademoiselles, so he took up the delivery job, which in turn offered Dave some cherished alone time in the apartment. 

He could have taken the time to snoop through his elder brother’s things, as a good younger brother should; goof off in front of the TV while forgoing homework, like a normal teenager; or “relieve some pent up stress”, like a typical hormonal boy. But no. He had other plans.

This Tuesday afternoon found Dave standing in the corner of his room, dish towel in his hand, balancing on a chair to get a better look at the top shelves of his book case. The case itself contained a cornucopia of junk. It’s not as if Dave Strider didn’t know that his prized possessions were pretty much trash -- he was well aware. That was what made them ironic, obviously. However, irony didn’t quite explain the cherished reverence in his stance as he picked up a jar, unidentifiable fetus wobbling about inside like cafeteria jello gone wrong, his hand piously toweling the dust off of the glass. He repeated the gesture with his other jarred specimens, taking the time to admire them through the meticulously cleaned glass, tilting the jars ever so slightly to catch them in just the right light. It was a ritual of his, strangely calming in its obsessiveness, yet its generally taboo subject matter. He knew it was weird to collect bizarre oddities and preserved animal parts, but he also didn’t give a shit.

The collection itself had been started by his brother, who brought home a fake-fetus in a jar and placed it on Dave’s bed side table. When he was four. A heart-shaped sticky note on it had read, “Here you go, little man. Take care of him.” The sticky note was still attached to the jar, faded in its glory, but still kicking all the same. The collection had taken off as Dave found a preserved scorpion at a rare Houston yard-sale and begged Bro to buy it for him. Thanks to Bro’s inability to say no to his now not-so-clingy younger sibling, the scorpion had ended up next to the fetus on the table. It was honestly just a landslide of preserved dead things in jars from there. Eventually, the collection was moved to the bookshelf, which Bro installed for that exact purpose, and they both continued to add to it, though always for ironic reasons, of course. Dave would never admit to it, but one of the reasons he appreciated the collection so much was that it was one of the few things that he and his brother honestly had in common, save for a predilection towards all things martial arts and shitty video games. The intimacy of the collection was one of the reasons he waited till he was alone in the apartment to clean his trophies -- it wasn’t easy to pass off as irony. And besides, it was delicate work and not something to be distracted while doing. 

The look on Dave’s face, serene and sedate, as he carefully moved the objects to their exact positions on the shelves, was one of Karkat’s favorites. There was something about that very moment that was so very un-Strider that it was mesmerizing. He glanced behind him, even though he was positive he was alone in his respiteblock, as he always felt like a voyeur in these intimate moments. On the screen, Dave pushed the last jar into position and Karkat paused the program. He cast a glance at his blinking Trollian window, affronted red text catching his eye from a partially covered window, and decided to push his most recently watched Strider moment to the back of his mind and ignore Dave’s pestering. He had more important things to do, anyway. Like sigh, lean back in his chair, and stare at the cold, grey ceiling.


	5. Chapter 5

dude its been four hours  
what are you even doing  
did you fall into your weird alien slime bed and now you cant get out  
do i need to play baywatch and run down the corridor in a bikini in slow motion  
tits flying everywhere   
and also junk  
dive in and rescue you with my unnaturally buff arms  
tilt your head lovingly back as i notice youre not breathing with weird green slime all up in your lungs  
or whatever you have  
spongy breathing apparatuses  
and give you the best open mouthed sloppy makeouts of life  
i bet youd love that  
youd come sputtering back to reality ready to strangle me in a roundabout appreciative way  
its ok vantas i know you dont deal well with emotions  
its hard but  
i understand

vantas  
its not even funny anymore  
are you actually watching reruns of my life  
because im not sure im ok with the weird intimacy of that  
i should at least be collecting royalties or something 

dude   
pyrope says youre not dead  
she says she can smell you skulking around somewhere  
im not sure i believe her though  
lets not play hide and seek on the meteor while your weird clown friend is still lurking around  
i dont like the way he looks at me  
and always stands too close  
you should tell him to lay off that because im not into that  
or him  
since i think that might be what hes going for  
from what i gathered from a really long winded explanation from maryam that didnt make sense but whats new  
nothing makes sense here  
like how all the food tastes the same  
and how its always a degree too cold for a tee but just too warm for a jacket  
my hoodie is feeling neglected  
you should also do something about that  
the temperature i mean  
that wasnt an invitation to wear my shit  
thought i should draw the line somewhere considering its totally chill for you to just be all up in my childhood  
apparently

fine  
if you want to play this game  
were doing it bro  
were making it happen


	6. Chapter 6

There was a creation sitting on their counter. Sure, the counter was full of clutter, debris, and most likely mostly trash, but the abomination was unmistakable in the middle of all of it and absolutely terrifying. Dave had saw it and stopped in dead fascination before he even mentally registered it. Sure, he was used to dead animals -- he kept them in cans and jars and he even had a few stuffed things, but he wasn’t so fond of those. But this? This was fucking vile, man. The abomination was staring at him and he couldn’t help but stare back, arms crossed and unmoving in the middle of the kitchen.

Dave felt Bro’s arms on his shoulders before he even saw the man. Somehow, the elder Strider had snuck up behind him and used him as the world’s most inconvenient armrest, the undersides of Bro’s biceps resting on Dave’s shoulders, hands clasping at the top of Dave’s head like some weird sort of vice grip. “You like it, little man?”

“Fuck no. What even is it? Did you trip on acid and get prolific with your sewing machine, some smuppets, and a Jim Henson porno? Because I’m not even sure what I’m looking at here.” To Dave, the creation looked like a conglomeration of smuppets who all had serious radiation-induced birth defects, combined with things that weren’t even in Bro’s normal arsenal of puppet paraphernalia -- like tusks and rhinestones. 

He could feel Bro smirk, his breath rustling Dave’s hair. “It’s called rogue taxidermy, dude. It’s right up my ally. It’s like regular taxidermy minus the dead-animal part -- it’s all stuffed and handmade. Gives you complete creative licence to go wherever your heart desires when it comes to stuffing dead things, or not so dead things as the case might be here.”

Dave wasn’t sure if Bro was implying that the puppets were alive or not. And yet, the uncertainty failed to bother him -- that was just Bro: the guy loved puppets. “Why is its mouth open?” He paused, “Why are both of its mouths open? Does it even need two mouths in this fantasy scenario you dreamt up for it? Is there a food shortage in the land of five-legged, snaggle-toothed rainbow horse puppets?” Bro’s snort shook Dave’s body with its sudden movement. “Does it say “sexy” on its ass in rhinestones? Is that even an ass?”

“Him, little dude. Don’t be insensitive. And yes: because he’s a badass, albeit hungry, sexy motherfucker.” 

Dave sighed, his body lightly relaxing against Bro’s heavy deadweight behind him. “You’re disgusting. Can we have pizza for dinner?” 

“Only if you eat the lettuce I put in the fridge. Gotta have all your food groups, little dude.” 

No one could ever say Bro didn’t take care of him, didn’t make sure he was well fed, well educated, and well trained. Maybe expecting Dave to chow down on a head of lettuce wasn’t what John’s father would do, but Dave didn’t care -- he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Bro removed his arms from his little brother’s shoulders and ruffled his hair, making his way back into the living room, already pulling out his cell to speed dial the pizza place.

It was too disconcertingly intimate. Karkat closed his husktop as he stifled a shudder. Strider, the raging asshole, was right: he was a fucking voyeur. How was this behavior even remotely socially acceptable? It wasn't. Not even if you squinted and then repeatedly slammed your face against a hard, metal wall. Good thing there were plenty of those around...but he'd get to that later. For the moment, he already had Terezi pestering him, telling him that Dave, the delicious coolkid, was looking for him. Time to explore the vast monotony that was the meteor before the insufferable prick caught up with him for god even knows what reason. Everyone was too bored on this rock and it was starting to get weird.


	7. Chapter 7

dude  
dude  
dude

Karkat couldn’t hold Dave’s boredom against him -- the were all unbelievably lacking in things to amuse themselves with on this godforsaken meteor. Hell, after two days it had been face-clawing-off levels of boring: weeks and months on top of each other later were no different. At least, Karkat could only hope it was boredom that was fueling Strider’s unrelenting assault on his messaging program. 

He supposed that at least sparing the “cool” human a minute of his time was the humane thing to do.

STRIDER. WHAT IS IT?  
thats all i get??  
no oh hey strider whats up long time no talk  
i really wanted to apologize for ignoring you for so long  
its not like we were having a conversation or anything  
sorry bro didnt know you were so easily offended  
ill try to keep my observations on your personal life intertwining really creepily with mine to myself  
since its none of my business  
no wait  
its totally my business  
in fact let me show you my card because this shit is all up in my business its not even funny how ass deep i am in these shenanigans  
because hey dude  
thats my life youre watching on pay per view  
on tonights episode of strider casa erotica  
DO YOU WANT TO SHUT UP FOR EVEN A FRACTION OF A MILISECOND?  
OR ARE WE GOING TO KEEP DOING THIS ALL NIGHT?

Unfortunately, there was no easy explanation. Sure, Karkat had absorbed himself in Egbert’s life when he had been positive that it would lead them into the arms of success and beating the game; but his weird fascination with watching Strider’s life was different and not so easily explained away. 

rude  
i was kind of on a roll  
YOU WERE JUST TALKING OUT OF YOUR ASS  
DON’T EVEN TRY TO PRETEND OTHERWISE.  
so  
whats the deal  
I’M SO FUCKING BORED, ALRIGHT?  
IT’S NOT SOME WEIRD FASCINATION WITH YOU OR YOUR BIZARRE AS SHIT CHILDHOOD. AND I KNOW YOU’RE NARCISSISTIC ENOUGH TO THINK IT IS  
BUT IT’S NOT  
I’M JUST BORED.  
yeah right  
OH FUCK OFF, STRIDER. I KNOW YOU’D LIKE TO THINK YOU’RE THE CENTER OF MY UNBELIEVABLY SMALL UNIVERSE, BECAUSE NOTHING ELSE COULD FUEL YOUR EGO WITH QUITE THE SAME VIGOR.  
BUT I’M GOING TO HAVE TO DISAPPOINT YOU.  
SORRY.  
vantas  
youre as good at lying as pyrope is at stealth  
i know youve experienced her bulldozing full force right at your face  
teeth and tongue everywhere  
subtlety thrown to the wind  
ive caught a stray glance over your shoulder occasionally  
i can totally see some rad strider swag on your windows in the background  
i know because you drop pieces of my life into conversations weve had  
shit ive never told you  
or anyone for that matter  
so dude  
yeah  
its a little disconcerting ok  
i mean if only in the sense that you havent been as free in your descriptions of your childhood  
as i said dude  
its all kinds of uneven here  
youre sitting at the top of the seesaw and im chilling bored at the bottom waiting for my turn to soar above the vast playground to survey my empire  
I DON’T EVEN HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY THAT  
MY GRUBHOOD WAS SIGNIFICANTLY LESS EXCITING THAN YOURS.  
BUT FINE. FAIR’S FAIR. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?


	8. Chapter 8

Now that that was settled, his triumphant victory hitting him like a surge of delightful cold water to his face on a oppressively hot Houston day, Dave wasn’t sure what to do. Sure, he could bask in the delightful pleasure of his victory and just end the conversation right there, but that hardly seemed sportsmanlike. Besides, his curiosity was flaring up and he couldn’t help but give in to his inquisitive desires. The question came down to: what exactly did he want to know about Vantas? He couldn’t just go ahead and ask what made the guy so absolutely insufferable and so ear-splittingly loud that even Dave wanted to alchemize a pair of earplugs to deal with him. Neither could he ask, outright, why the nubby-horned troll had gotten so overwhelmingly bored that he had decided to stream the highlights of Dave’s entire life to his husktop. He’d get nowhere with a question on that train of thought, despite how desperately he wanted to know. 

Dave leaned back in his chair in the less-than-populated computer lab, which Lalonde and Maryam had turned into a rather cozy library, finger to the side of his sunglasses in thought. He had to come up with something good, if Vantas was actually giving him a verbal (or moreso written) window here, however brief.

well for starters  
lets hear what youve marathoned

Dave waited for the response, leaning back against the pillows, feet up on a nearby table, husktop perched in his lap. He enjoyed hanging out in the lab more than his room, since he hadn’t bothered to Striderfy the place yet -- it was still pristine and far too sterile, like all the metallic rooms on the meteor. Sure, Lalonde’s room was bound to look exactly like the lab (ie. a Medieval slash Arabian lounge) and subsequently, Maryam’s probably looked rather similar. Dave wasn’t exactly sure why they hadn’t just started cohabiting, since they were practically on that level already, at least that’s what he thought. But, now was no time to get distracted now by his ectosibling’s extracurricular activities. 

im waiting  
DO YOU EVEN HAVE ONE MICROOUNCE OF PATIENCE IN YOUR ENTIRE DISGUSTING, FLIMSY BEIGE BODY, STRIDER?  
IF YOU LOOKED DOWN TO YOUR VERY CORE, WOULD THERE BE ANY SORT OF ENDURANCE OR COMPOSURE THERE, INHERENTLY LACED IN WITH YOUR ECTO-DNA?  
HELD TOGETHER HAPHAZARDLY BY UBERGRUB GLUE  
honestly probably not  
patience isnt really something striders do  
I NOTICED.  
OKAY, FINE. YOU WANT A RECAP, I’LL GIVE YOU A RECAP.  
FIRST, I WATCHED YOU UNPACK YOUR GRUB-TOYS FROM BOXES. AND THEN, TO COMPLETE THAT CYCLE, I WATCHED YOU, AS A GRUB, PLAYING WITH THOSE SAME INANE THINGS. IT SEEMED RATHER FITTING TO COME FULL CIRCLE IN THIS ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS STATE OF AFFAIRS.  
I WATCHED YOU ACCUMULATE YOUR COLLECTION OF CARCASSES IN JARS THAT YOU KEPT IN THE CORNER OF YOUR HIVE AND CHERISHED LOVINGLY WHEN YOUR GUARDIAN WASN’T AROUND, AS IF THE PRACTICE OF FONDLY STROKING JARS OF ROTTING BIOLOGICAL MATERIAL WAS SOME SORT OF TABOO.   
WHICH IT TOTALLY IS.  
IN CASE YOU WEREN’T AWARE.  
hold up dude  
i feel like i should put it out there that nothing in those jars was rotting  
NEWS FLASH, STRIDER: I DON’T CARE. STOP INTERRUPTING ME.   
YOU’RE JUST AS INSUFFERABLY TALKATIVE ONLINE THAN IN PERSON, IF NOT MORE SO.  
I EVEN WATCHED YOUR BROTHER CREATE VILE ALMOST-CORPSES OF THOSE VULGAR PUPPETS HE HAD ALL AROUND YOUR HIVE.  
I WATCHED A FEW OTHER THINGS TOO, BUT THEY WEREN’T NEARLY AS MEMORABLE.  
AND BY MEMORABLE, I DEFINITELY MEAN THEY WERE BURNED INTO MY THINKPAN DUE TO THEIR ATROCIOUS NATURE AND I WISH I COULD GET RID OF THEM BUT GOG HELP ME, I CAN’T.  
ok fair  
totally creepy  
but ok bro i guess thats just how its going to be  
since i cant watch your life on demand  
i guess youll just have to tell me about some of it  
why dont you tell me what you got for babymush since im going to hazard a bet that it wasnt even close to normal for you grey douchenozels   
GOOD GUESS, STRIDER.  
NO, IT WASN’T EVEN ON THE SAME DIMENSIONAL PLANE AS NORMAL.  
SO MY LUSUS WASN’T THE MOST DEXTEROUS OF CREATURES. I MEAN THE GUY HAD GIGANTIC CLAWS FOR HANDS IT WASN’T LIKE HE REALLY HAD THE ABILITY TO BE, AND I DON’T FAULT HIM FOR THAT.  
BUT DEAR GOG, THE MEALS I REMEMBER GETTING.  
ONE OF MY FIRST MEMORIES IS OF BEING HANDED A BOWL OF ALMOST-PULVERATED LAND-ARACHNID PARTS. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN FINE, IF THE CLEARLY DISTINGUISHABLE STILL-MOVING LEGS WEREN’T TWITCHING AROUND IN THE MIDST OF LAND-ARACHNID DIGESTIVE ORGANS AND EXOSKELETON.  
I STARTED FIXING MY OWN FOOD, SOON AFTER.  
AND WAS A BIT STUNTED IN THE GROWTH-DEPARTMENT BECAUSE OF IT. BUT HELL IF I WAS GOING TO EAT SHIT LIKE THAT.   
ok dude i think id rather eat pony goo  
but hey on the bright side it looks like by eating all the crap on this meteor youve caught up some  
who knew junk food could be so good for alien development  
I’M STILL SHORT IN ALTERANIAN STANDARDS.  
BUT I SUPPOSE SINCE ALTERANIA IS NO MORE, THEN I’M DOING QUITE WELL. OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT GAMZEE STILL STANDS A GOOD HEAD TALLER THAN ME.   
yeah well thank god for small miracles  
WHATEVER, STRIDER. I’M ONLY GLAD I’M A BIT TALLER THAN TEREZI.  
you know shed never let you live it down if she towered over you  
EXACTLY.

Dave found himself staring at the screen and frowning. This was slowly approaching the boundaries of friendly banter and that was definitely not cool. At least, at any rate, it would violate the unsigned, non-existent contract he had with Vantas to keep it professionally hostile between the two of them. And not in that weird alien hate-quadrant kind of way. 

ok well peace

Dave absconded. He would have felt moderately guilty, if that was an emotion he was even vaguely familiar with -- but it wasn’t. Careful hands set his husktop on the pillow next to him as he stretched out, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. This was getting complicated.


End file.
